


The Eye of the Storm

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Feelings Porn, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Praise Kink, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter from Dorian's father sends him into a rage that only the Iron Bull can calm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks both to [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) and [Iambic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic) for beta-reading and for giving me feedback and helping me sort out the snags, especially to Iambic for giving me a lot of guidance and ideas when I needed them! 
> 
> I'm thinking of this a spiritual prequel to "Always Good at Bad Ideas," but the two stand alone. And yes, the title is an intentional pun, commence tomato launch.

He wanted to burn the letter the moment the messenger handed it to him. Dorian recognized the blocky handwriting before he even read his name scrawled across the front. Closing his bedroom door, he held the parchment between his fingers and let flames lick just beneath his skin. It would be so easy. But then he sighed and slowly unfolded it, moving to lean against the small desk that came with his room when he claimed it. (An important distinction, for he would not be blamed for that positively dismal color of wood.)

He stared at the words without reading them at first, just the sight of that handwriting making his stomach churn. It had been such a nice day, too. The air had warmed enough to melt some of the snow out of the courtyard, drawing many of Skyhold’s residents out into the sun. Even Dorian failed to resist, leaving the library long enough to catch the Chargers running drills in the practice yard. He’d been giving Dalish a few pointers on the more underhanded uses of ice spells whenever he happened on their practice sessions. In return, she had been showing him some truly startling uses for tree roots. And if he happened to catch the Bull’s eye while the oaf was sparring with Krem, his muscles glinting with sweat as he smirked back at Dorian… well, that was entirely circumstantial.

Dorian’s eyes drifted back down to the letter, and the urge to burn it returned twofold. He shut his eyes.

“Pull yourself together, Dorian, you coward,” he muttered. He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and began to read.

The letter opened with the usual pleasantries, some cursory drivel about the weather and everyone’s health. Dorian skimmed until “return to us” caught his eye like a fish hook, yanking his attention back up the page.

_But I am writing to ask when you will return to us. You made your dedication to the noble causes of the Inquisition clear--_

Dorian wondered if his father wrote that just for the benefit of any scouts that might peruse the letter before handing it off to him. It certainly wasn’t to impress Dorian.

_\--and we respect your efforts in that regard. But your return is eagerly awaited when your services are no longer required, so that you may resume your duties to house and family. I trust you have not forgotten that it is your duty to your family to take up your work in preparation for magisterial duties, as befits the noble heir of the house._

Duty. The word was bitter on his tongue, like swallowing the smoke he wished desperately he had sent up instead of opening the damn paper. _Your duty._ As if he owed his father a debt for his patient tolerance of Dorian trying to save the world. As if his apology in the old Redcliffe tavern was truly as hollow as it had sounded, more bartering chip than peace offering. What had he expected? That his father might actually travel across half of Thedas just to apologize?

_We find ourselves the lesser for your absence._

Dorian snorted aloud. That phrase was Tevene for “our family name has gone down several social pegs since you refused your father’s thoughtful intervention in your future, and we’re growing impatient dealing with it.” Efficient language, Tevene.

He barely took in the rest, some offering of travel aid, some plea for response. Gritting his teeth, he crumpled the letter and threw it across the room, letting it land somewhere behind the wardrobe. He pressed his hands to his face, grinding his fingers against his eyelids until he saw patterns of light, trying to steady his breathing. To think, he had actually wanted to believe his father’s sincerity, after all the things he said right in front of the _fucking Inquisitor_.

_Return to us. It is your duty._

Dorian let out a yell, pulling his hands away from his face and letting them ignite. But much as he loathed the pragmatic Fereldan decor, setting his room on fire was not going to soothe the tempest in his head. He snuffed the fire again and stalked to his bedroom door, wrenching it open.

 

* * *

 

Bull looked up from his axe, whetstone still on the blade as footsteps thundered up the stairs toward his door. He barely blinked when the door flew back on its hinges and smacked against the wall, Dorian marching into the room in its wake. He was panting and red-faced as he stared at Bull without speaking, looking almost surprised to be standing there. Bull raised an eyebrow, nearly quipping something about Dorian being eager, but there was a look in the mage’s eyes that stopped him short. He laid the axe aside instead.

The movement seemed to wake Dorian from his thoughts. He glanced at Bull’s axe, at the fire snapping in the hearth, at Bull. Then he turned and pulled the door shut, lingering a moment against it, shoulders tensed. Bull half-expected him to yank it open again and storm back out, but then he heard the lock turn. Dorian whirled around, his eyes on Bull as he drew in a deep breath.

Bull rose to his feet. “You’re earlier than I--”

“I need you to clear my head,” Dorian said, pushing all the words out in a rush and swallowing heavily.

Bull took a few steps closer, studying Dorian. Eyes wide, teeth gritted, fingers curled in and tapping against his palms, that tension along his shoulder blades. Bull frowned.

Dorian had been watching him in the practice yard just a few hours ago with a small, promising grin sliding across his lips whenever their eyes met. (The grin that always set a little fire in Bull’s belly. The one that made Krem actually get a hit in on him, making Dorian laugh.)

Now, he was pressing his lips together as if to keep from screaming. This wasn’t the frustration of fruitless research, or the huffy annoyance Sera’s pranks brought out. This wasn’t even the look he wore pressed in battle, flinging fireballs furiously at demons twice his size. Bull had seen this look exactly once, months ago, outside the weather-beaten tavern in Redcliffe.

“Dorian, tell me what--”

“ _Please_ ,” Dorian hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. He took a breath, turning his head to the side before opening his eyes again, but then he seemed to fumble for some thread of his usual bravado. “I’m practically handing you an open invitation to fuck me blind, I thought you’d be pouncing.”

Bull ducked the half-hearted jab and moved closer, raising a hand and gently gripping Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian slowly let out a breath at the touch, his shoulders easing. Bull hid his surprise, wondering how anxious Dorian was if he didn’t even try to hide his comfort at Bull’s touch. Bull wondered when his touch had become comforting.

That low heat flared to life again.

“Okay,” he finally said, barely a whisper, and Dorian relaxed a little more. Bull let his hand drift up Dorian’s shoulder and over his neck to rest along his jaw for a moment. Dorian pursed his lips, finally looking up at him, and Bull studied that gaze. Dorian had the look of a man caught at sea in a storm, clinging to the only rock he could find before the waves swept him beyond where he could swim. Thunder was roaring in his ears, and he couldn’t raise his voice above it. But he needed to.

Bull stepped back. “Strip.”

Dorian swallowed, raising unsteady hands to the buckles along his robes. Bull just watched him for a moment, holding his gaze as Dorian released each clasp. It wasn’t seductive, not exactly, and that told Bull anything the tension in Dorian’s shoulders hadn’t.

At last Dorian pulled the final buckle free, sliding the leather down and stepping free of it, then the cloth beneath. He stood bare against the door, and Bull swept an appreciative glance over him.

“Watchword,” he said, quietly.

Dorian swallowed again. “Katoh.”

Bull nodded. “Lay down on the bed.”

 

* * *

 

It should scare him, Dorian thought, that Bull’s room is the first place his useless feet carried him. It should scare him that he hadn’t even thought to fumble for an excuse. It should scare him that it took one touch of Bull’s hand and the tension bled from Dorian’s body. But nothing about the Bull truly scared him, not anymore, and maybe that was the most frightening thing of all. He came here to stop thinking, and the Bull's touch sent him thinking twice as hard. What was that charming southern expression? Out of the frying pan and into the fire?

Dorian laid himself down in the center of Bull’s bed. Bull toed off his shoes, but made no other moves to undress, heading instead to the dresser across the room. Dorian’s eyes followed him, trying to focus on the way the firelight caught the scars across the Bull’s back, wondering idly what his father might think of finding his _noble heir_ in the bed of such a beast. It’s not as if it would be the first time he’d found Dorian in a compromising position.

_You are no son of mine._

Bull turned back around, catching Dorian’s eyes on him and smirking. Dorian mustered a thin smile in return, his eyes falling on the candle-holder Bull was carrying with him. He’d lit several others across the dresser, though with the fire roaring in the hearth, they hardly needed the light. Dorian raised an eyebrow, but Bull had already turned away to fish in his side table drawer. He plucked a coil of hempen rope from within, and then a silk scarf Dorian had left there months ago when Bull took a shine to it after they’d used it in Dorian’s room.

“Might as well,” was all Dorian said, but Bull read the gesture for what it was, and gave Dorian that crooked smile of his.

“Sit up and raise your arms.” Bull’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Dorian complied.

“Good,” Bull murmured, and Dorian tried to ignore the warmth that blossomed in his chest. Bull pressed the silk over his eyes, tying it carefully behind his head, then began winding the rope around his wrists. Relief washed over Dorian at the feel of it, and he gladly lay back when Bull pushed him down again.

For a moment, there was no sound but the soft crackling of the fire, and Dorian’s own breathing. Dorian felt his skin prickling, and when he heard no movement from Bull he turned his head vaguely toward where the Qunari had been standing, ready to snap at him to get on with it already.

Before he could speak, he heard Bull shuffle. When he spoke, his voice was near Dorian’s head.

“In here,” he said, “it’s just you and me.”

Dorian swallowed, and his heartbeat quickened. He felt the bed dip.

“No one else,” Bull said. “Nothing else.”

Dorian took a deep breath, and he felt the heat from the fireplace suddenly disappear, the heat of Bull’s skin drawing nearer. Then Dorian felt a sudden, hot sting in the center of his chest. He jumped, hissing through his teeth, but then it cooled, stiff against his skin.

“The door is shut. You locked it yourself,” Bull continued. Another drop just below the first, and Dorian forced his mind to focus on it, to feel every moment of the heat before the pain faded.

“Nothing else is getting through it.” This time a hot line drew across one pectoral, grazing above his nipple. Dorian groaned. He heard Bull’s breathing suddenly close, near his ear, and then the soft rumble of “It would have to go through me.”

A shudder ran through Dorian’s whole body, the sudden relief that followed so palpable his eyes stung. But before he had time to consider it, or the oddly protective growl beneath Bull’s words, Bull trailed another line across from the first, and Dorian’s mind snapped instead to the sharp heat of it.

Bull let a series of drops fall over Dorian’s stomach, each a delightful little nip in his skin. Dorian’s cock stirred, and Bull hummed appreciatively, drawing a stripe below Dorian’s navel. Dorian strained a little against the rope at his wrists, his hips bucking just slightly in acknowledgement as he bit his lip.

“Tell me what you want,” said Bull. His voice was husky, rough, and Dorian felt a jolt of arousal just at the sound.

“Please,” he whined, flexing his hips up again.

“Say it,” Bull said, sharper, and Dorian bit back a whimper as his cock twitched. He felt one hot drop land at the jut of his left hip, then one on his right, and he writhed.

“Please touch me,” he hissed out. “Touch my cock.”

“Good,” Bull said again. Dorian heard the clink of the candle holder on the nightstand above his head. Then came the warmth of Bull’s hand, gentle, tracing the path he made with the wax down from Dorian’s chest, teasing lower until he finally palmed Dorian’s cock, and Dorian gasped.

 

* * *

 

Bull had never met anyone who could think as loudly as Dorian could, so there was nothing quite so gratifying as bringing those thoughts to a studdering halt. He had been watching Dorian’s face, watching his lips part as he let the heat and the pain sank into his skin, watching his teeth drag over his lower lip as another drop fell. It took considerable willpower not to lean down and bite that lip himself. Now Dorian’s head tilted back as he pushed into Bull’s touch. He panted and squirmed, his fingers scrabbling awkwardly against the quilt even as the rope kept him from turning his hands enough to grip it.

Bull slid his hand over Dorian’s erection, a slow, delicious friction, and Dorian’s hips strained up into it. Bull took his time, running his thumb slowly over the crown before dragging it down along the vein beneath. Dorian gasped, hips bucking harder. Bull pressed a hand along his hip to keep him still. He drew out each stroke, letting Dorian feel each leisurely slide of his fingers until he shook beneath Bull’s hand.

Some nights, Bull let him keep silent like this. He asked no questions, let Dorian feel what he needed, gave him what his eyes and his hands and his hips silently begged for. But not tonight. The look on Dorian’s face as he burst into the room was burning in Bull’s mind, and he wasn’t about to let Dorian bury it under the haze of passion. So, eyes covered, hands tied, hips held, there was only one way for Dorian to get what he wanted. What he needed.

“Say it,” Bull said, and Dorian stilled. “Tell me what you want.”

Bull watched his lips working, pressing together, opening, falling closed again. “I… I can’t. Please…”

Bull let go of Dorian’s cock, and leaned away to reach for the candle again. He stopped when Dorian sucked in a harsh breath and whimpered.

“No, please, _please_ , touch me, suck me off, anything, just please don’t _stop_.”

Startled, Bull reached for Dorian’s face. He smoothed his fingers along Dorian’s cheeks. “Dorian. I’ve got you.”

Dorian calmed. He drew in a breath.

“I’ve got you,” Bull said again. Bull trailed his thumb down, passing over Dorian’s lips.

“...I know,” Dorian said, barely a whisper, against Bull’s skin. That shouldn’t have made Bull feel as suddenly warm as it did, but he let himself smile, since Dorian couldn’t see.

Bull trailed his hands lower again, following the firelight along Dorian’s skin. “You did good, telling me what you want. Now open your legs for me.”

He watched Dorian settle back and smiled again to himself. He climbed between Dorian’s knees, pressing his hands up Dorian’s flanks to hold his hips.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he leaned down and engulfed Dorian’s dick to the root. Dorian arched up off the bed.

 

* * *

 

Sensation flooded Dorian, Bull’s name startled from his lips. Bull’s grip on his hips kept him from bucking, grounding him even as the feeling threatened to drown him. Bull’s tongue slid up the shaft as he pulled back, swirling over the head, then sinking back down again. The noises that reached Dorian’s ears were _obscene_ , and he reveled in them, in the wet slide of Bull’s lips, the perfect curl of his tongue. He was vaguely aware of Bull coaxing Dorian’s thighs onto his shoulders, but once they rested there, Dorian dug his heels in. Bull pulled back long enough to chuckle. He licked along the head of Dorian’s cock, teasing, lazily following the ridges.

Dorian sat up enough to bring his arms back down to his chest. The wax from earlier pressed oddly against the shift of muscle. He reached blindly for Bull’s head, though the rope only really let him hook a couple fingers near the base of Bull’s left horn. He rubbed the sensitive skin there just as Bull’s mouth slid down again, and Bull groaned. The sound traveled up Dorian’s cock, making it twitch in Bull’s mouth, and Bull hummed again in approval. He sucked a little harder, letting his head bob along the shaft, and Dorian dug his fingers in along Bull’s horn, crying out.

“Bull,” he gasped out, “Bull wait… not… not yet… _ah_ … want you… in me.”

Bull trailed his tongue slowly back up before he let go, and Dorian whimpered again. But then Bull seemed to pause, and the silence stretched long enough that Dorian frowned.

“What are you waiting for?” he demanded.

There was a light huff of air, something close to a laugh, and Dorian just knew Bull was smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking about how gorgeous you are tied up like that.”

Dorian snorted, but felt his cheeks heat. “Well, get up here and do something about it.”

Bull gave him a real chuckle this time. “Ah. _There_ you are.”

Dorian stilled. The words rung in his ears, soft, gentle, impossibly _fond_ , and Dorian’s brain scattered in eight different directions trying to parse out exactly what it meant. Or maybe he knew. Without Dorian realizing, Bull had reached down through the storm-dark mix of rage and confusion and _ache_ Dorian had rushed in with and managed to pull the man beneath it all back up to the surface to breathe. Just because Dorian had asked him to, though he hadn’t known it. Before his mind caught up with his hands they were moving, dragging so the back of one of his fingers moved softly over Bull’s temple next to his eye-patch, and then down his cheek.

_Just because I asked. Just to make me happy._

Bull gently pushed Dorian’s legs off his shoulders as the silence stretched, and Dorian cursed himself for the gesture, certain he’d overstepped. Dorian’s arms fell away from Bull’s head, landing in his lap, and he heard Bull stand. There was a rustle of cloth, then the dull thud of Bull’s belt hitting the floor. Bull seemed to move away, and Dorian heard a drawer open. Then he was back, and Dorian felt a hand wrap around the rope at his wrists. Dorian’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Lay back, _kadan_ ,” Bull whispered.

 

* * *

 

The word rang through his mind like a bell the moment Dorian caressed his face. Bull had been conditioned, rigorously, in the art of hiding emotion, of fighting down every involuntary twitch of his cheeks or flex of his jaw, every hint of something other that might give him away at the wrong moment. But at the feel of Dorian’s finger, the way his lips parted suddenly and his eyebrows lifted over the top of the blindfold, Bull’s training failed him. He felt his face soften, endearments too close to his lips to trust himself to speak, and he knew. All in a rush, like a terrible, strange, sudden force colliding with his chest, he _knew_. He knew what it had been there for weeks, maybe longer, what had twisted in him when Dorian came in looking like he wanted to set the whole tavern on fire. He tested it on his tongue, carefully, eyeing Dorian’s face even though he knew the mage had no idea what it meant. Bull isn’t exactly sure _he_ knew before this moment.

Bull followed Dorian as he shifted backward. The Qunari settled between Dorian’s legs once more and pushed Dorian’s hands back over his head, letting their chests press together as he did.

“You’re so good,” Bull murmured. “So strong.”

“Bull,” Dorian moaned, curling his legs over Bull’s thighs. He raised his head a little as if to kiss him, but Bull leaned out of reach. Dorian frowned and let his head drop back, and Bull released the rope, smiling when Dorian’s hands stayed where he’d pressed them. Bull reached for the top of the small vial he was holding in his free hand.

“You want me to take you?” Bull said, letting some of the oil spill across his fingers.

“Yes,” Dorian breathed, drawing the word out.

“You want to feel me inside of you?”

“ _Maker_ , yes.”

“Open up for me,” Bull said, and Dorian moved his legs off of Bull’s to spread them wide.

“Yeah, just like that,” Bull rumbled, reaching to gently tease Dorian’s hole before slipping a finger inside.

Dorian tensed and gasped, and Bull moved a soothing hand along his thigh.

“That’s it,” Bull murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Dorian relaxed but bit his lip as Bull slowly moved his finger in and out, letting Dorian get used to the feel. Then he added another, watching Dorian’s face as his head craned back.

“You’re beautiful like this, spread for me,” Bull said, scissoring his fingers.

Dorian moaned, pushing back against Bull’s hand, taking him deeper.

“Yeah,” Bull groaned again. “Good boy, just like that.”

Bull slipped a third finger in and moved his other hand down to his own cock. He pumped lazily, letting the oil coat every inch. Dorian turned his face to the side, and Bull took advantage of the angle to lean over and bite at Dorian’s ear while he worked his fingers. Dorian moaned again, louder.

“Are you ready for me?” Bull rumbled in his ear, and he felt Dorian’s cock twitch against his stomach at the sound.

“ _Yes_ ,” Dorian said, jerking his hips as Bull curled his fingers, teasing Dorian’s prostate.

“Say it,” Bull said, licking at Dorian’s earlobe.

“I want your cock,” Dorian groaned. Bull smiled.

 

* * *

 

When they first started tumbling into bed together, Dorian told himself the “savage danger” attracted him, and that was all. It was the thrill of something taboo, something unknown, of giving himself to something--someone--who could easily kill him with his bare hands. A little base of him, being so aroused by that thought, but he could live with the shame. Then one night became two, and three, and days became weeks, and that excuse stretched thin over them all. So then he told himself it was just about the sex. It was undeniably fantastic, even mind-blowing, if he could throw such a romance novel term at what they were doing. Still, it fit. It fit until weeks became months, and that excuse frayed at the ends too, and Dorian knew it. Now, bearing that strange weight that settled in his chest after Bull murmured that word Dorian didn’t understand, the excuse seemed to have snapped altogether, and he had nothing to hold on to as Bull pushed up into his body, into his heart. And strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to care that he was about to be swept away.

Because for the first time since this whole strange… thing between them began, he was realizing what had brought him here, to this room, and not to the tavern or to the library or anywhere else, when his family tried to snatch the rug out from under what happiness he’d managed to rebuild. He felt freer here, tied up and blindfolded in Bull’s bed, than he ever had in his whole noble-bred life.

Dorian threw his head back as Bull finally slid home, both of them panting. Bull peppered kisses along his jaw.

“Dorian,” he murmured, trailing kisses down his neck.

“Mmm,” Dorian said. “I’m up here.”

Bull chuckled, and the sound made Dorian feel light. He finally brought his lips to Dorian’s, gentle, slow, but Dorian was past the point of gentle. He lifted his head to kiss back hungrily, biting at Bull’s lower lip, and Bull groaned against him. He slid his hips back, then drove back in, and Dorian broke the kiss to gasp.

“ _Good_ , you feel so good,” Bull said against his lips before devouring them again. He picked up the pace, and the sound of their skin slapping together filled Dorian’s ears.

 

* * *

 

Bull kissed him hard, licking sloppily into Dorian’s mouth and drinking in every moan that reverberated in the back of Dorian's throat as Bull moved. He kept a firm grip on Dorian’s hips, pulling the mage down to meet each thrust. Dorian writhed up into him, seeking the friction of Bull’s belly against his cock. Finally he wrenched his mouth away and cried, “ _Fasta vass_ , Bull, touch me! I need… ah, _kaffas_ , I need you.”

Bull groaned at the words and gave Dorian one last lingering kiss as he pulled one hand free of Dorian’s hips. He wrapped his fingers tight around Dorian’s cock, pumping in time with his thrusts, and Dorian let out a keening whine.

“Yes,” he said, “Oh yes…”

“That’s it,” Bull said, digging his fingers into Dorian’s hip. “Yeah, fuck, you’re perfect Dorian…”

“Bull, please…”

“Come on,” Bull leaned forward to murmur it in his ear, pressing their faces close.

Dorian dissolved into a babble of Tevinter curses as Bull pounded into him, the sound of it driving Bull to the edge.

“ ‘m so close,” Bull said.

“Maker, _yes_ , Bull,” Dorian cried, and Bull stilled, roaring out his release into Dorian's ear. He panted for a moment against Dorian’s skin, then leaned back, beginning to move his hand again.

“Come on,” he said again, as Dorian arched desperately into the touch. Dorian’s face was flushed under the blindfold, his hair a mess from him rubbing his head against the bed, and Bull didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite so beautiful.

“Bull!”

“Come for me, kadan, I’ve got you.”

Dorian cried out, spending over Bull’s hand and his own stomach, jerking up into it before sinking bonelessly down against the bed. Bull let go of his cock, raising one hand to his lips to lick his fingers clean while he ran the other up Dorian’s side, soothing him. Dorian was trembling.

“Just breathe,” Bull said softly, and Dorian took a slow breath in, and then another.

Bull slowly pulled away, moving off of the bed toward a pitcher and bowl on the dresser. He pulled a cloth out of the drawer beneath, and poured water into the bowl, dipping the cloth in.

 

* * *

 

Dorian listened to the sound of the water as he tried to calm his heartbeat. He felt limp and shaky, but more at ease, the tension and anger rung out from his muscles as thoroughly as the cloth Bull was holding. He felt Bull sit on the bed again, then press the wet cloth to Dorian’s chest. Dorian bit his lip. Somehow, this felt more intimate than anything else they’d done. Bull scrubbed at the bits of dried wax until they peeled away, but made no move to untie the rope or the blindfold just yet.

“You gonna tell me what happened now?” Bull asked, and Dorian pursed his lips, suddenly grateful that Bull couldn’t see his eyes. He wondered idly if that was on purpose.

He let himself feel the gentle motions of the cloth for a minute before he spoke. “I got a letter from my father.”

The cloth stilled. “What does he want?”

“Apparently,” Dorian said, “he has forgotten all about that lovely little apology he made me in the tavern. It was basically just a thinly-veiled demand that I come home before I put the family in social ruin.”

Dorian felt Bull’s fingers tense against his skin. He could hear the disgust in Bull’s voice as he said, “As if you’re the one that owes him shit.”

Dorian pursed his lips, struck again by the odd contrast of his family at home, and his… well, the company he keeps here.

“He says I am responsible for my duties to the family,” said Dorian with a snort.

“You’re responsible for _you_ ,” Bull said firmly. He moved the cloth away, and Dorian felt him tugging at the binds around his wrists. “The rest is your choice.”

Dorian quirked his lips. “That doesn’t sound like the Qun to me.”

“Well, you’re not part of the Qun, so…” Bull said. He was evading, but Dorian let it go. The ropes came loose around his wrists, and Bull massaged his fingers over the places where it had bitten into Dorian’s skin, then ran the cloth over one, then the other.

As he was finishing with the second hand, Dorian reached down to pull the blindfold off with the first. He blinked at the firelight, letting his gaze travel up to Bull’s face. The Qunari was frowning, concentrating on Dorian’s wrist, but when he looked down at Dorian’s face, he smiled.

“Would you really just stop if I said ‘ _katoh_ ’?” Dorian asked, surprising himself as much as Bull with the question.

Bull furrowed his eyebrows. “Of course.”

“Just stop dead, in the middle of whatever we’re doing.”

“Yeah. That’d be the point of having a watchword.”

Dorian looked away, his eyes drifting to the fire as Bull stood, cleaning himself off and moving to return the cloth back to the basin. Dorian bit his lip, a strange affection settling in his chest. Maybe that was what drew him here, more than anything, night after night. His father had promised to give him imperial power, but took away any power of Dorian’s own as the price. Bull took only what power Dorian chose to give, and gave it back tenfold with his too-big hands and his too-big heart in the shape of one small, simple little word, with no expectations.

_Just because I asked. Just because it makes me happy._

How strange that this “savage beast,” a man he’d been taught to hate and fear, was everything he’d ever needed in one scarred, wonderful package. How strange that the thought didn’t frighten him like it probably should. And would, in the morning, when he would properly fret about how fast he was falling. But now, Bull was sitting back down on the bed, and so Dorian sat up, crawling close until he could cup the Bull’s face and pull him into a kiss.

“Thank you,” he whispered when they parted. Bull looked him over with that all-seeing eye of his, studying his face for a moment, before he slowly smiled, and leaned in to kiss Dorian again.


End file.
